People are corporations, money has more power than ever, and billions are spent to protect and promote the interests of and hide the darkest secrets of those who want to be President of the United States. Join with me in search of the truth hidden behind these politicians' smiles.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

According to Levi Johnston's public Facebook page, he's going back to work as an electrician. Does that mean he got his GED? Inquiring minds want to know.

Some of you said you'd appreciate my posting here from Levi's page, so today is a good day to do that. It's a good news day. Levi is going to work one month before his daughter is due. Last weekend's baby shower was fun, he posted a picture of the beautiful diaper cakes Sadie made for it, and Sherry left a message under the picture.

Levi claims the baby is due September 17. Did he get that from the Palins? Always say a baby is due on the 17th or 18th. According to Sunny she is 8 months along. Do the math. That baby is not due September 17th.

By the way, Sherry gets out an around now. She has been for months now. Went camping with the kids (grown adult children) over Memorial Day weekend. Gets glared at by Willow when they run into each other. It's a wonderful life in Wasilla. And while I'm throwing out random things - Sadie moved out on her own months ago, too. She has a nice place and a nice life, and that probably is making some not very nice people pretty unhappy. No, she isn't in Wasilla.

Now, for a little gossip. Sadie was dating a celebrity earlier this year. It never made it into the tabloids, and it isn't now what it once was, so I didn't make headlines out of it, either. I'm pretty sure I could name him and be correct, but no one sent any pictures to me and I didn't see them together myself, so this is all I'm comfortable saying. He is a cutie, and a huge Hollywood star. They would have been really cute on the cover of the rags.

Friday, July 27, 2012

It's almost time for school to start again, and Cristol Saplin does not want to go back to the capital. White Trash in the Snow is a work of fiction. But it does take place on planet earth, in the USA. So, you might find some things that have a familiar ring to them. Any similarity to actual persons, or places or events is coincidental.

It was August. Rachael and Cristol seemed to be arguing all the time. Even little things became big things because neither one would compromise. On this particular afternoon, Rachael, dressed for jogging, and water bottle in hand, was humming to herself and almost to the back door when Cristol shuffled into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and hair askew. Her mother commented that school would soon end her daughter's summer sleep-ins.

“I’ve got a plan for that. I’m gonna go to the scheduling office on the first day and tell them that I need a study hall first period because First Family duties keep me out late on lots of school nights and I’m going to need to sleep in. It’s an accommodation.” (The five syllables had become a household staple since Rachael became governor. It was a passport, of sorts. One that got the whole Saplin family into concerts, invited to dinners, provided with lodging, and airfare.)

“That’s my girl!” Rachael complimented.

Cristol grunted. She was looking for the chewy chocolate
granola bars. On an empty stomach it was hard to take her mother’s pep and
self-satisfaction. “Mom! Did Pride eat all the breakfast bars?”

“How would I know? Why don’t you grab a toaster pastry and
come running with me. This might be the last time we can do that together before
you’re stumbling into second period at Fredrick Douglas High.”

“The last time? When
was the first time? God, Mom, you’re always makin’ stuff up.”

Rachael reddened, which encouraged Cristol to continue, “That’s
one of the reasons I’m not going back to the capital. I need a break.”

The planned run was
forgotten. The two became locked into battle over where Cristol would spend her
junior year- Azzolla High, or Fredrick Douglas High in the state capital,
the school she’d been enrolled in the previous spring.

“No way, Mom. NO!” Cristol yelled. “I’ll drop out first.”
She turned her back to her mother and crossed her arms.

“You are NOT dropping out, young lady! It may be a long shot, but if I’m gonna
have any chance of bein’ asked to run for Vice President this family has to
look perfect. THERE ARE NO DROP OUTS IN THE WHITE HOUSE!” “It’s always about you, Mom! You and your image. You and your stupid, phony,
made up life. It’s always about you. You didn’t make any winning basketball shot
in any dumb championship game. You sat on the bench. I know the truth. Wrangler’s
dad told him and he told me.”

“That’s a lie. I made two free throws.”

Cristol squinted an “I hate you” look and smiled an evil
smile. “Right, mom. But the game was
already put away. I heard the truth. I know you lie. YOU LIE.”

Rachael’s hand flew up and Cristol took two steps back.

"You always pretend everything about your life is perfect.
Well it isn’t! And I’m not going back to that awful, hateful school. This is
about me! This is about my life mom! My life!” She clenched her fists, and took
a deep breath. “And I’m spending this school year in Azzolla!” Tad came in from the garage to find Cristol, tearful and Rachael glowering.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Rachael wheeled around and growled at Tad. “Talk some sense
into your daughter, Tad. She says she isn’t returning to the capital. She
thinks she can stay here, unsupervised, and go to school with her friends. Now
how would that look?” “Calm down, Rachael, I know what you’re saying, but - “ “But nothing! Cristol is going back with me. I have a special legislative
session to conduct, and I have to be in the capital Mondays and Tuesdays and
some Thursdays, too. The kids have to go to school there.” Tad’s silence was hard to interpret. Was he going to agree with Rachael?
Cristol turned her back to both of them and re-crossed her arms. Rachel pushed her arguments further. “And common sense tells you we can’t trust
her to stay here alone. Do you know how late she got home last night?” Suddenly, it all connected for Rachael. It made sense. She straightened her
back, struck a former-beauty queen pose with her head slightly tilted, and
smiled like she had just been named Miss Congeniality. In what her kids called
her “smart-ass sarcastic voice”, she addressed a question to her daughter’s
back. “This is about Wrangler, isn’t it?” Cristal, spun around and stomped her foot.”I hate you!”

“Now,
Cristol –“ her father began.

“ I hate her,
Dad! I really do!” Rachael’s eyes could shoot daggers, as sharp as Cristol’s. She shot her
daughter a look, then, with a huff, gave
Tad his orders. “You handle this. I’m going running,” and grabbing the water
bottle from the counter, out the door she went. Rachael Heat discovered running while in Junior High. Running was one of the
things she’d held on to since she was fourteen along with writing in a diary
every night, and holding grudges. Tad watched his wife run away, thinking to himself
that, ever since he’d known her, she’d run away from tough situations.
She’d withdrawn from courses and colleges, quit jobs, delegated the task of firing
people, and walked out of meetings more often than not. Like many times before,
she was physically running to get away from making a big decision. Rachael
was a champion at running away from tough things. Deliberately choosing to be the opposite of her mother, Cristol hadn’t moved.
Arms defensively crossed, tears dropping from her chin, she was a mess. It was
a pathetic sight. It made her
father want to cry, too. “Calm down, honey. Your Mom has a lot going on.” “I don’t care!” She sniveled, pulled a paper
towel from the rack and blew her nose. Tad went to her. He hugged her and she laid her head on his shoulder. As she
wept, a wet spot grew on the sleeve of his t-shirt. He imagined her pain
washing away with the tears, and he was absorbing it. For Tad Saplin,
this was a new level of sensitivity. She pulled away and blew her nose again. “Who cares where I go to school?” she
asked. “Oh, Honey, your mom is right about that. People do care.” Tad was relieved. This was something he could talk
about - other people and their
shortcomings. “Especially people who care about your mother’s career. You
remember that bunch of guys that got off the tour boat and had lunch at the
mansion this summer? Just before your Mom went on that trip to Kuwait?” “Yeah. So what? They were stuffy old men and Maple and me had to serve them
that food from Costco’s that you ran and got. What’ve they got to do with me and Wrangler? I mean, with
me and school?” She broke eye contact and blushed. “Those are very influential guys, and
they came to meet your Mom because they might want her to run for Vice
President. The other party has a woman candidate who’s pretty much a sure
thing to run on the top of the ticket, so the party bosses are trying to find a
woman to run. Your mom has a really good chance.” “I think it's a joke. Mom and her prom hair running the White House? That’s crazy.” Tad was glad
to see her smile. "So," she asked, “why haven’t I heard about this?” “It’s got to be kept a secret. I shouldn’t have even said this much. Those men
- that group is like, top secret or something. All hush, hush.” He was sorry
he’d said anything, but he had made her smile, so… “So you’ve got to promise
not to ever, and I mean ever, repeat this.” Cristol nodded. “They
insisted that we not tell anyone, including family. But I’m trusting you. Keep
this a secret.” “Politics! I should have known.” She was angry. “Does this group have a name?” “Conservative Christian Caucus, but you can’t repeat that, either. That’s
secret too.” Why am I still
talking? He could almost hear his wife saying, “Shut up, Tad.” Cristol wanted to get back to her problem. “So, Dad, will you talk to Mom, get
her to let me stay here? I need to go to school with my friends. Everyone at Fredrick
Douglas hates me. Don’t make me go back there!” she begged. “It’ll be alright, Honey. You know your mom, we have to let her run it off.
Everything will be okay. I promise.” He regretted those last two words as soon
as they were out. His mouth was out of control. “Daddy, you are the best! I knew you would save me from that horrid place. And
I promise to keep those Christian Circus guys a secret. You promised me, I
promise you!” She gave him a big hug. When she crossed the kitchen to throw away the crumpled paper towels, he notice
something different about her. Hmmm,
he thought, she must be in one of those
in-between stages, where she gets heavy before she shoots up taller. She’s
really gotten big this summer. Her face is fuller, she’s put on weight. It
made him feel sorry for her all over again. No
wonder she’d rather be with old friends than trying to make new ones. What’s the
matter with Rachael? Doesn’t she remember how hard it was to be sixteen? “I’ve got friends to call, to tell them I’m returning. You’re the best, Dad!”
She took the stairs two at a time, going up to her room, but she looked awkward and clumsy. Even more than usual. Tad watched her, amazed that he was only just noticing the changes in his oldest daughter. Wow, I bet she’s put on at least ten
pounds this summer. I'm going to tell Rachael she ought to have a talk with all the kids about cutting back on junk food. Then, he returned to the garage and promptly forgot all about it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cristol and Sparkler were sitting on the living room floor organizing new stuff
they’d bought for school. Folders, paper, pens, pencils and notebooks were
scattered about them. “So, your brother is going to be in charge? And he’ll be going to community
college? Man, that’s totally awesome. He’s not going to care what you’re
doing.” Sparkler was in awe of Cristol’s good fortune. Field wasn’t going to be a problem. Things were much better than last spring. After
her brother had told her parents she was a stoner, she’d told them he was into OxyContin.
It was a mess. Everybody yelling, then her mother shutting down and going into
one of her pouting comas. Their dad leaving the house and not coming back for
days. It was heavy stuff. Cristol and Field felt responsible for the
near-breakup of the family and they felt guilty about being snitches. From then
on, they agreed, they would have each other’s backs. And if they couldn’t do
that, at least they would refrain from attacking each other.

“Yeah, and my dad will be here every other week, but he’ll
be in the garage.” She shrugged, her father’s obsession with his snow mobile
and other equipment was not new. And he
was lenient. Even if he caught her and her friends drinking, or found some
drugs, or learned she had skipped classes, he would go easy on her. And she had
that new secret about the Circus or Caucus or whatever it was. She could threaten
to use that if she needed a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. Cristol had almost no worries. “Only one thing could go wrong that I can see. Grandma
and Grandpa are supposed to check on us once in a while, like - you know, unannounced.
Field and I are gonna have to watch out for them.” “This is gonna be so totally awesome! Everyday…” Sparkler made the motions of
opening a beer can and chugging it down. “It’s gonna be great.” “Yeah,” Cristol couldn’t identify what was bothering her about the plan. She’d
gotten her way. She was going to school in Azzolla, she would have practically
no supervision; who wouldn’t love that? What was wrong? Why did she feel empty?

She tried to shake the blues, “Yeah, it’s gonna be a blast. My dad isn’t going to miss a few beers once
in a while. I know where he keeps his stash. It’s in the garage. If he notices,
he’ll probably blame Field. Besides, what’s he going to do? He can’t ask who took them…”

Sparkler understood. “Noooooo. Cause he doesn’t think
anybody knows he even has a secret stash.”

“Right. How lame is
that? Dad sneaks beer in the garage because my mom disapproves of him
drinking.” Cristol rolled her eyes. “God, my parents are so lame.” “Everybody’s parents are lame. At least yours are hardly ever home.” With that
pronouncement, Sparkler began picking up. The Ellen DeGeneres show was almost
over, signalling it was time for her to go home. Cristol was still trying to figure out her own sadness. The battles she’d won,
to stay in Azzolla and go to Azzolla High, meant that she wouldn’t be with the
family. Was that it? No, that couldn’t be it. They weren’t a close family; they
hardly ever sat down for meals together, unless it was to grab a couple pieces
of pizza. They weren’t like Sparkler’s family – the Jones even played
Monopoly together for heaven’s sakes! How last century was that? A twinge of jealousy shot through Cristol. She remembered Sparkler’s laughter that
very day as she shared funny moments that happened last night during the Jones
family “game night.” It was a weekly event that had been going on as long as
Cristol had known her friend. Someday,
Cristol vowed, Wrangler and I will have
“game night” with our kids. Till then, she knew she was stuck with the far-from-close-knit Saplin
family life. But still…being hundreds of miles from her Mom, Maple and
Pride was going to be a little weird. While they were picking up, they heard the sound of tires on gravel.
Through the sidelights at the front door, they saw Rachael climbing out
of the state-issued black SUV. Sparkler flew into a panic. “Find the remote!
Turn the station!” Almost a year before, Mrs. Saplin had “caught” Cristol and Sparkler watching Ellen’s
show. Cristol’s mom “went ballistic” –
that’s how Sparkler described it to their
friends. The anger that poured from Mrs. Saplin was frightening in its
intensity. Sparkler trembled while Mrs. S adlibbed a ten minute sermon on the
evils of homosexuality “Cristol! You know better! You’ve been raised better
than this! You know what that woman is. And you, Sparkler, perhaps you don’t
know, but it’s in the Bible, that which it is that is an abominator, or
something, too, which it is, of course, common sense!”

Sparkler was sure the Bible didn’t say it was a sin to
watch the Ellen DeGeneres Show, but she’d learned not to argue the Bible with
Cristol’s mom. She learned that when Mrs. S had said something about dinosaurs
not being real. Sparkler thought it was a joke, and laughed loudly. Whoa! Big mistake. So, when the governor launched
into another Bible tirade, the one about
Ellen and all that stuff, Sparkler kept her head down and just waited for it to
end.

The end finally came when Rachael said “that woman Ellen
may be making a lot of money now, and livin’ in a mansion, but also, no amount
of money can buy you a mansion in heaven.” Cristol, totally embarrassed, later apologized to Sparkler for her mother’s
outburst. Her friend made light of it. “Can’t buy a mansion in heaven? Ha!”
she said. “I thought that was why televangelists keep asking for all that money!”
Using her best imitation of a faux-sincere elderly white man in an
expensive suit and a million dollar smile, she said “For only thirty dollars
I’ll send you this cheap little trinket made by children in a third world
country who get paid thirty cents a week to make them.”

She thought she was
being quite funny, and was surprised by the reaction she got from her friend. Cristol’s
neck tensed and her lips puckered. Sparkler thought she looked like she wanted
to fight.

“Don’t joke about Christians, not in my house.” .

Sparkler backed down quickly. “Sorry.” That was all, and it
was enough. The incident hadn’t stopped the girls from watching their favorite
daytime show together, but after that, watching Ellen with Cristol always felt
more wicked than smoking weed. And, for sure, Sparkler wasn’t going to be
caught again. Spotting the remote under the chair, she grabbed it and flipped the channels, stopping at a rerun of "Law and Order." Just before the front door opened, she said, "Next week, we're going to watch Ellen every day."

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

What she's talking about is the behavior of her nephew, Bristol and Levi's son Tripp, who's real claim to fame is that his in utero development was paraded across the stage at the 2008 Republican National Convention. Subsequently his life has been spent in front of camera while his no-talent selfish mother attempts to portray herself as someone to be admired for the courage of raising him without his father. And by the way, Levi would love to have his son in his life, so the whining and complaining is nothing less than a dispicable plan to hurt Levi and increase Bristol's bank account. Bristol has reaped what she's sown. Here's Tripp hitting his mother and his aunt, telling them he hates them, and being bleeped for words nice people don't use. And by the way, why does Bristol tell him "there are drunk kids" at the pool? He knows what drunk means at the age of four? Really, Bristol?

Thursday, July 19, 2012

WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW

by Allison

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons is strictly coincidence. I wrote this for fun, and nothing would make me happier than to hear from Friday to Friday that you are finding some enjoyment in reading the adventures of my fictional characters, the Saplin family.Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.

Twenty minutes after they left the Azzolla town limits,
Wrangler and his dad were invested in a good-natured disagreement about
ammunition. Which caliber is best for moose hunting? Kevin Strauss listened
with respect to his son’s opinion while he watched the road ahead.

Wrangler was talking about wound areas and high speed
bullets when he felt a vibration in his pocket. Normally, he read a text as
soon as it came in. Right now, though, he resisted the impulse to look at his
phone. This was “Dad time.” Everyone was supposed to leave him alone for the
next three days. They’d all been told – mom, Porsche, Cristol, Carver, Dan. So, who was this? Who has something so g-d important to say they have to bother me right
now? His curiosity was strong, but his resentment was stronger. Whoever
it is, they can wait until I get back.

Kevin wasn’t aware of Wrangler’s predicament. He had begun
a monologue about some of his most difficult hunting shots, near escapes from
wild animals, surviving sudden storms, and other stories of triumph. Along the
way, Kevin took a foil pouch off the dashboard and pulled out some chew. The wad
of tobacco was inserted without
interruption to the story in progress.

Something about the package on the dash drew Wrangler’s
attention. He reached over and picked it
up, turning it over in his hands. He stared at the brown wrapper. It wasn’t
familiar. He felt a hollowness inside; a familiar sensation that came whenever
he discovered things about his father that he should have already known; things
he would have known if his dad lived with them.“Levi Garrett? I thought you
always chewed Red Man. You’ve given up on the Indian and the green label?”

“No, son, I haven’t given up the Red Man. Heck, that’s been
my brand for years. But a friend gave me this to try and I like it. It’s kinda
salty.” He glanced quickly at Wrangler and saw his son looked seriously upset.
Eyes back on the highway, he asked, “Want to try some?”

Of course Wrangler wanted to try it. Wrangler wanted to be
like his dad in every way. That’s why he hunted with such passion. That’s why
he worked so hard at ice hockey. And, someday, he was going to become an
electrician, too. Just like his dad.

He took some of the leafy chaw out of the package and put it
between his gum and cheek. He’d snuck some of his dad’s Red Man before, and
sometimes bought his own at a shop he knew about where they didn’t ask for
proof of age. But this was the first time his father had offered it to him. He
would handle it like a man. It was another bonding experience that reinforced
that Porsche didn’t belong on these hunting trips. There’s some stuff only men can
share.

“So, what do you think?”

“Yup, salty.”

“But, it’s good, right?”

“Yeah.”

They rode in comfortable silence, enjoying the tobacco and
spitting into empty plastic water bottles. The beautiful scenery was familiar.
Minutes passed, then Wrangler broke the silence, “I like the name.”

Kevin was puzzled. “What name?”

“Levi Garrett. Cool name.”

“Oh, the tobacco.”

“Uh-huh. Cool name. I could name a kid Levi Garrett. That
would be cool.”

“Levi Garrett Strauss. ” His dad said it out loud. “How
about Levi Kevin , instead?”

“Levi Kevin Stauss? That
could be cool, too.”

“Your mother and I, we almost named you that. I liked it.”

“Really, Dad? Never heard that.”

“Yup, but Jerrie liked the name Wrangler better, so I
agreed. Baby names are really important to women.”

“You’re telling me? Cristol talks about them all the time. And
if she isn’t talking about baby names, she’s planning our wedding.”

Kevin almost choked on his chew. “Something I should know,
Wrangler?” There were secrets. He was left out of a lot of things, sometimes
intentionally, sometimes just forgotten. Either way, it hurt. But – come on! A
wedding?

Wrangler quickly corrected the mistaken impression. “Oh,
god, no. Nothin' like that. She just likes to think about marriage, you know…it
wouldn’t be now, but…well, maybe some day.” He paused. “Whatever. You know how
girls are.”

Yes, Kevin Strauss new very well “how girls are.” He’d
spent too much of his life trying to satisfy a wife and a girlfriend
simultaneously. He didn’t wish anything like that for his son. He didn’t want
either of his kids to find themselves in a bad marriage. Or getting a divorce -
only lawyers are winners in a divorce. This world is made up of lawyers and
people who pay lawyers. No Strauss was ever going to be a lawyer, so…

“How serious are you two? I know I don’t ask about it ever,
much, but – “ he searched for the words. “But, it’s too soon for …”

“No worries, Dad.”

“You’re using rubbers, right?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Wrangler, I got nothing against marriage. Even though your
mother and I couldn’t make it work forever, we had some good years. There’s
worse things than marriage and babies. First though, you need to grow up some
and get a job…”

“I know.” How the
hell did we get into this? Wrangler wondered.

“ …yeah, well, I’d hoped you’d work with me someday, and-”

“I know, Dad.”

“ … and you have to apprentice first.”

“Yup.” Wrangler was keeping it short, hoping it would end.

“Well, yeah, of course.” Kevin stole another glance at his
son. Wrangler’s face was turned away, but it was evident that his jaw was set.

“Hey, never mind. You know all this stuff already. You got
good sense. If you can keep from getting eaten by a bear, you can avoid
matrimony. Sorry, I only -”

“S’okay.” Wrangler had been staring out the passenger
window since the subject of condoms had come up.

“Whatever.”

“I love you, Wrangler. You know that.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

“And I like Cristol well enough,” he hedged.

“Uh-huh.”

“And your Mom likes her, too. That’s important, let me tell
you. If the mother-in-law don’t like the daughter-in-law, it’s bad news.” Wrangler
said nothing. “Course it’s worse if the mother-in-law don’t like the
son-in-law. When moms and daughters team up, a guy can get mauled worse than if
a grizzly got him.” Kevin Strauss looked like he was remembering a bad
experience. ”

“Mom likes her,” said Wrangler, keeping to his short answer
strategy to end this agony.“Cristol likes Mom, too.” Actually, that was only
partially true. Cristol didn’t think Jerrie had “class” but, one
compliment she did give her was that Wrangler was “really lucky” to have a mom
who loved him so much.

Kevin Strauss had planned to wait until they had set up
camp and the stars were out, but he decided this was the time to have “the
talk” he’d promised Jerrie he would have with Wrangler. He took a deep breath
and began, “Son, there’s something else we need to talk about…”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

For the better part of the next hour, Kevin and Wrangler talked about Azzolla,
the Saplins, and something called “The Family.” The stories his father
told could have come out of a Stephen King novel. The common thread running
through all the stories was that bad things happened to people who stood up to
“The Family” – a mafia-like group rumored to have powerful influence in
all areas of the community – the town board, churches, schools, community
groups, business organizations, the hospital board, and the police. Many people in town were sure “The Family” was behind Rachael’s public service
career from the very start, all the way back to the Azzolla town council.
Indebted to and protected by them, her influence and actions benefited
those who held interests in land, oil, and commerce (she was pro-business and
anti-big government) and in return, “The Family” protected her, Tad and the
extended Saplin/Heat families. Crime families in New York City might
assume The Family would be amateurish, but they were, in fact, highly effective
in the valley and beyond.

Kevin had story after story of Azzolla businesses, citizens, and civil servants having bad things happen to them after a disagreement with now-Governor Saplin or with other persons of power. The implication of wrong-doing was compelling, but Wrangler wasn't sure that there might not be another explanation. "Son, I've been around a lot longer than you. With all I've seen, I believe our Governor, and your girlfriend's mother, is ruthless, vindictive, and dangerously ambitious".

It was a Saplin family story. Ed and Rachael’s sister Sally were getting a
divorce, and within a month of the filing, Ed became the subject of an internal
workplace investigation. Twelve citizen complaints had been lodged. That would
sound like a terrible record, and a basis to believe this was a rogue cop,
unless one was told that all twelve reports came from Sally’s family members,
including several each from Rachael and Tad and from Buck and Betty Heat. Rumor
was that Ed Spivey was going to be fired after a kangaroo court of
state-paid officials were done taking statements from Saplin family members and
Saplin administration supporters.

Kevin was a betting man. It was part hobby part addiction.
In the valley there were far worse addictions, he reasoned. “My bookie is saying Spivey will last until
December, then they’ll can him. But my money is on six weeks with a five day
spread on either side. I think I’m going to do well, I’m gonna make some
money.” Wrangler remembered things Cristol’s grandparents and parents had said; jabs and jokes about Uncle Ed and other things
he hadn’t understood. He began to see how The Family might be a real force
in the valley. Maybe his dad was going to make money on this bet. He found it kind of creepy and
kind of fascinating. Until that day, Wrangler had been oblivious to the political
side of life in his small hometown. He summed up his thoughts with an adjective
and a noun. “Scary stuff.” Kevin nodded. “I know. I know. It
scares me and I’m a lot older than you. When I was your age – well, no, not
your age, but younger - a kid – well, anyways, I loved watching old Superman
reruns. “Truth, Justice, and the American Way!”
Wrangler gave him a look that said “WTF?” “Sorry, that's from an old kid's tv show. Superman's just a fantasy and as for truth, that turned out to be fantasy, too. Justice is for those who can
afford a good lawyer. And The American Way? Yeah, right. The American Way is to
chase the almighty dollar, climb over other people to get what you want. Lie,
cheat and steal, ‘cause everybody else does.” Wrangler didn't know what to say. Why was his dad so bummed?

They traveled for miles without talking, absorbed in their own thoughts. Wrangler wondered if there were something big coming down, something personal that started Kevin’s shit storm of semi-paranoid negativity. What was this talk about lawyers? Did his dad need one? If so, why?

Maybe he owed taxes like Mr. and Mrs. S. Last week they were yelling at each
other about having to pay an attorney to go to the IRS to get them out of
trouble. They had been so loud, that, twenty feet from the back door, he could
hear Tad say “It was your idea to not file,” and even louder he heard Rachael’s
screech “Property taxes, Stupid! Not income taxes!” Then there was a loud
banging sound. And another, after which the Governor shouted, “I said don’t
report the cabins!” Cristol, opening the door, was almost hit by a flying
can of creamed corn.

So, obviously, cheating on taxes is a big
thing. So big, you needed a lawyer for it. Dad might have some tax
troubles, too, he reasoned. Why not?
He cheated on Mom, what would keep him from cheating Uncle Sam?
Man, this trip sucks so far.

Braking hard for an upcoming curve in the road, Kevin Strauss checked the
rear view mirror to confirm that the four wheeler was okay in the truck bed. He
picked up the conversation where they’d left off, as if there had been an
intermission and the second act was beginning.“ I know I sound harsh, Wrangler, but it's time you start to grow
up. Look around. Look how tough life has been for your mom and me. Being an adult is not easy.” Coming out of the curve and seeing more curves, he accelerated slowly. He
raised his voice more than necessary to compensate for the roar of the engine.
“All that pain your mother lives with - that’s tough on her.”

Wrangler kept his mouth shut. His mother had told him many times that physical
pain isn’t the worst pain. Heartache is worse.. She’d said that to him
ever since he was really little. “Be a man, Wrangler. Never cheat.” The older
he got, the more he understood her words, and the more he understood how hard
it could be to stay faithful to just one girl. Kevin wasn’t the kind of guy to put down his ex-wife. He was glad the kids
respected Jerrie and loved her. When he could, he reinforced it. “That’s one
thing I’ll say for your mom. She doesn’t complain about pain. Nope. No matter
what,” and glancing quickly at Wrangler again, he said, “Gotta respect that.” Staring out the passenger window, Wrangler talked back to his father in his
head. Respect? Who are you to talk about
respect? You disrespected Mom. Said you needed that other woman in your
life. And, hey, what about me and Porsche? We needed you, too. Mom’s
right - it’s always about you.

“And what about me? It hasn’t been easy for me, either.
Ain’t no easy life being on the S-list in this shitty town. Meth capital of the
country. More high school drop outs than graduates. Unwed mothers everywhere. A
whole valley of undereducated teenagers begettin’
the next generation of the same. Everybody brags how beautiful our state is.
That’s nothing we can take credit for. Nobody I know built any mountain or
carved out any lake. Stupid people everywhere build ugly shacks, we got
homeschoolers who aren’t studying anything but what’s behind the zipper of
their girlfriend or boyfriend’s jeans, and everybody thinks the government
ought to send them a check just for breathing. I wish better for you, Wrangler,
but you’ll have to find it yourself. Maybe hockey will take you somewhere.” Taking another slow curve, Kevin rolled down his window and spit out his chaw.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and rolled the window back up. “I’m telling ya all this for one reason. If you stay in Azzolla, you gotta
learn to protect yourself.” Wrangler almost snorted, “No offense, Dad, but I’m a better shot than you.” “ I’m not talking about guns or fists, son. I’m talking about keeping your
mouth shut. I’m talking about lookin’ the other way. When it comes to the
likes of the Saplins and the elite bastard's club, well, you keep your head
down. Ya hear me?” He didn’t have to make eye contact, his voice captured
Wrangler’s full attention. “Makes you hate yourself sometimes, but it’s better
than other choices.” Wrangler rolled his window down and spit. Wiped his mouth and rolled it up again
window. "Choices? What choices?” “See, this is what I’m tryin’ to tell you. This is what you got to learn to get
by as an adult in the valley. You wanna have work? You play along. You want
your kids to get some breaks? You play along.”
“What breaks did I ever get?”
“You got to play on the hockey team didn’t you?”
“I earned that! I’m the best they’ve
got.”
“Doesn’t matter. You can be Wayne-fucking-Gretsky and you’ll sit the bench if
you’re on the shit list. Lucky for you, your mom and I stay under the radar.”
Wrangler wasn’t fully believing what he was hearing, but then his father
connected.
“I made a small mistake a while back, and you paid for it. That fine you
got for a fish out of season? That was ‘cause I had just ticked somebody off.
The wrong somebody. You even said you wondered why you didn’t just get a
warning, like, that friend of yours last year – Carver, was it?”
“Dan.”
“Yeah, ok, Dan. Well anyway, that’s how it is. That was a message to me to stay
in line, or my own son might find himself looking over his shoulder all the
time.”
Kevin turned on the radio and found a country station. For a few miles, the
only words heard in the cabin were those sung with a twang and told about a
lost love named Ruby. When the final chords faded, Kevin started again. “You might want to think about joinin’ the military, join the army. See the
world. That’s one way to escape this place.”
“Not the army, Dad.”
“You could do worse, Wrangler. They have guns you’ve never seen before. And,
after that, maybe college on the GI Bill.”
“No college for me. Nope, not happenin’. Like we’ve always said, I’m either going to play hockey or I'm going to
become an electrician, like you.”
Kevin Strauss was conflicted; he wanted his son working with him some day. They
had talked about it since he was little. But if he got some college under his
belt, he could advance quicker and not be a grunt all his life, like his dad.
“Just sayin’ – some military, some college, those things could come before
working with me.”
“Cristol’s dad works up there, and he don’t have no college degree. If it
were so bad, he’d have gone somewhere else, right? Wouldn’t that mafia family
fix him up? He’s been there for years, so it must be good up there.
Right, Dad?”
Kevin Saplin sighed. “Tad Saplin is a mole. Everyone knows that.”
“A mole?” Wrangler didn’t know the term.
“Yeah, he feeds internal confidential information to his wife and other people
so they know what’s coming down. That’s what I’ve heard and I believe it.
Knowledge is power.”
“So Mr. S. has knowledge type of power,
huh?”

“Damn straight. And it’s stolen knowledge. That’s very dangerous power. You
watch out, son. Be careful around them Saplins. I’m telling you The
Family is real, don’t mess with them.”
Wrangler thought of Mr. S. as a gearhead, a Mr. Mom. Racing snow mobiles was the one thing he did that was cool, but it wasn’t equal to cloak and dagger stuff.
“You want that guy for a father-in-law? Here’s what I know for sure – at work,
Tad Saplin is a real asshole. Tries to intimidate everyone. I had a foreman
that had a disagreement with him outside of work. Something about a fishing
license, and three days later the guy’s out of a job. You tell me that ain’t
underhanded.” Kevin looked angry, as if it had happened to him. “The guy had a
family to feed. Didn’t matter. “ He spit out the window again, then said, “Remember kid, your
girlfriend’s mother is the governor. If you or I do anything to piss her off,
neither of us will ever find work in this state again.” Kevin Strauss knew he’d dumped a lot on Wrangler in one fell swoop, but he felt
he had no choice. Wrangler was dating Cristol Saplin. Wrangler had a driver’s
license. There were so many pitfalls…
“Wrangler, maybe it sounds like I’m crazy, but you need to know that even
something as insignificant as saying you might vote against a local road
project can put you on the shit-list. Believe me, life isn’t any fun when
you’re getting pulled over by the police for no cause. It’s not just
once, mind you, but every day for six months. Think about that. You get
angry, but, what can you do? It makes you late for work. What are you going to
tell your boss? You look in the rear view mirror all the time. The tension
wears on all your relationships, people begin to think you are paranoid
or exaggerating. You’re slowly going crazy and there’s no place to turn.”
As his father built this scenario, Wrangler watched his face harden and his
eyes narrow. Abruptly, Kevin Strauss slammed a fist against the steering
wheel. “Damn it.” With only a look and a raised eyebrow, Wrangler asked
his dad to explain.
“Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
You’ve heard that? ”
“Maybe.”
“It means people like the Saplins. They can be dangerous with all that
power and all that corruption. So you be smart. Hear me? I don’t want you
gettin’ hurt.”
“Mrs. S isn’t going to hurt me, dad. Neither is Mr. S. They like me.“ The sound Kevin made was a cross between a snort and a laugh. “Parent’s never
like the guy that’s dating their daughter. That would go against nature.”
His smile waned, and he said, “And the guy is always blamed if the girl gets
knocked up.” “Whatever.” “Hey, I’m serious.” He pointed an index finger toward Wrangler. “You be
careful. No little Levi Kevin Straus’s running around nine months from now.” “Dad!” Wrangler had had enough. This was getting annoying and his father
was worrying over nothing. “You know,
Dad, it’s not like when you and Mom…” He stopped. No one ever wants to picture
their parents screwing in the backseat. “Just sayin’,” he felt his face getting
warm. “Everybody is …is… “ He and his father had never talked about
this stuff, so he didn’t know how. “Don’t worry, okay?” “Look, Wrangler, if you are happy being with Cristol, and maybe in a couple
more years, if you kids are in love, I’ll be happy to come to your wedding. But
think about what I said. Take a good look at their family. Is Cristol’s mother
the kind of person you would want to be married to? “ “Hell, no!” “Well, girls become their mothers.” He saw Wrangler start to protest and cut
him off with a raised palm. “Hold on. Think about it. Isn’t Porsche a lot like
your mother?” It was true. Porsche could be very maternal - bossing, correcting, reminding,
defending. Dan and Carver teased him saying, “Wrangler has two
mommies,” But, still, did that prove Cristol would become like Mrs. S?
That would suck. He had a vision of Cristol closing a bedroom door, and he, himself
trying to sleep in the living room. “Cristol is nothing like her mom. Really.
She wants to have babies and stay home with them. Her mother has never
stayed home. And Cristol hates her for that. And her parents never talk
to each other, except to fight. Sometimes her dad is gone for weeks and weeks,
and her mom doesn’t care. She’s gone, too. But, Cristol, heck, she wants to be
with me all the time.” “All the time? You like that?” “Yeah,” he replied quickly, then added, “I mean, I guess so, um, yeah, most of the time.” He stuttered. “It…it’s
okay.” Then, he admitted, “But, yeah, it can be too much sometimes.” “So, I gather that Cristol’s controlling, demanding. Isn’t that like her
mother?” He had to agree. “Well, yeah, her mother runs the family. Even Mr. S does
whatever she says. So, controlling, yeah…” And everyone else hates her for it, he thought. Yet, he was sure Cristol wouldn’t turn out like that because she wouldn’t have
a title like “Governor” or even “Mayor.” He had to make his dad
understand. “Mrs. S, well, you know, she
runs the state all day. When she gets home she can’t turn it off.” “Maybe - maybe not. The question is - How are you with being bossed around? I
know I wouldn’t like it.” Kevin was trying to make Wrangler think for
himself. What he wanted to say was– Run, son! Run as fast as you can! “I’m not bossed around,” Wrangler said, defensively, “I only go along
with the stuff I want to.” Kevin was sorry the trip had to start this way, but he was glad they’d had this
talk. “Well, just think about what I’ve said. That whole family dynamics thing is a
bitch. You’re a smart kid. Keep your Johnson wrapped and don’t do
anything to get the Governor and the asshole her married her mad at you.” “I won’t. I’m telling you, they like me.” They rode miles without talking. Kevin was thinking about a bet he’d placed on a
game being played that day. He switched from the country station and began
searching for a sports report. Wrangler pulled his phone out to check the time and it was then that he
remembered he had a new text. It was from Cristol: “ BIG FITE!! MOM & DAD
TALK N DIVORCE!!!!! MOM LEFT!!! FLU HOME!!!"

While reading it another message came in. Again, it was Cristol. "Mom and Dad aren't the ones who should be married. We are. Let's elope when I get home. NOT KIDDING!!!" He returned the phone to his pocket. When he got back he’d have to lie. He'd tell her there was no cell reception out in the mountains.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

WHITE TRASH IN THE
SNOW

by Allison

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons is strictly coincidence. I wrote this for fun, and nothing would make me happier than to hear from Friday to Friday that you are finding some enjoyment in reading the adventures of my fictional characters, the Saplin family.Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental. All
rights reserved.

From her very earliest memories, Cristol carried a mental picture of her
mom being home every day. Cristol was very young when her mother ran for town council in their
small, rural town. Rachael Saplin's first election day victory was, for little Cristol, a life changing event.
From her current perspective, Cristol could see that it wasn’t really such a big deal,
but that didn’t erase the memory of how it felt at the time.

Four-year-old Cristol hated the nights when her mommy had
to “go to work.” The child adored her mommy and followed Rachael around while
she got ready to go to “Mommy’s meetings.” Cristol watched as Rachael loosely pinned her
hair up on her head and put on makeup. When Rachael described a certain pair of
shoes or piece of jewelry, little Cristol would run and find them in her mommy’s
closet and in the pretty wooden jewelry box on Mommy’s dresser. It was a game –
“Can you find mommy’s black shoes with the gold buckles? Can you find the
necklace with the little pearl?”

Cristol would beam when Rachael praised her – “Yes, those
are the pair! Good girl. Cristol is so smart. Oh! And that’s the right
necklace. Thank-you Honey. Cristol is a big help to Mommy.” Then Rachael would
tell Cristol and Field to “be good for Daddy,” give baby Maple a kiss, and head
out the door.

Cristol would run to the front window and watch the car
until it disappeared out of sight. On those nights, Cristol missed having her mommy
tuck her in and read a story to her. Tad would read to her, but it wasn’t the
same; his voice didn’t sound like Cinderella’s fairy godmother no matter how
hard he tried. After he gave Cristol a hug good night and left the room, Cristol
would usually cry herself to sleep. She loved her daddy but she wanted her
mommy.

For a while, after Cristol had said her “now I lay me down
to sleep” prayer with her mother or father, she made a special request. “Please
God, send me a magic wand.” Her parents thought it was cute, until one night
Tad asked what she would do with it. “I’m going to make Mommy's job disappear. Then she can stay home and play with me!”

The magic wand didn’t show up, and the town council position led to bigger things. When Cristol was
eight, her mother put so much energy and time into running for mayor that Field
and Cristol felt not only ignored but in the way. In retrospect, Cristol
believes that is when everything started to slide out of control. Her parents fought
more and talked less, her brother picked on her a lot, and she, herself, began to
overeat.

Cristol envied Field when he started Middle School and his
world opened up. He and his friends seemed to be doing exciting, dangerous,
cool things and once in a while, if she promised not to tell on them, they let
her tag along. She loved being included when they were shooting hoops, and she
would do almost anything to get to go camping and riding snowmobiles with her
brother and his friends. Field was very different from Cristol. He was a
likeable natural leader, he was popular, he was smart. Other kids followed him
with something close to worship. His venturing was often dangerous and some
escapades bordered on - or were – illegal, yet that only made him more of a
legend among teen Azzles.

Field introduced his sister to an assortment of vices. At
thirteen she lit up her first cigarette when he offered it to her. It was Field
who showed her how to use a bong, and gave her her first swig of vodka. There
were some things her brother tried that even she disagreed with, like doing
crystal meth and using OxyContin. His addictions became well known and Cristol promised
herself that she was going to be more careful than he had been. She vowed to make
better choices.

Cristol was the only girl allowed to go along with Field and
his friends on that Halloween when they climbed over the fence at the
transportation lot and damaged forty school buses. Inebriated and high on
excitement, she had flirted heavily with Wrangler Strauss throughout the
evening. She felt rebellious, grownup, sexy, and independent. It was a heady
mix. Wrangler was experienced, he was ready to make a move. But as it turned out, it was
Wrangler’s friend JJ that she took home with her.

That night she crossed the Rubicon. Later she told Sparkler
she had no regrets. “It was, like, totally awesome,” she said, “If my parents
knew they would, you know… kill me. But, hey, if I’m old enough to be left
alone for the weekend then I’m old enough to make adult choices. Like sleeping
with JJ.”

“Yup, they gave you the house to yourself, well, to you and
Field. They couldn’t have really thought he’d stay home. Give me a break. And they
probably knew what you’d do.”

“No, not my parents,” Cristol said. “They are pretty
trusting. My mom always says, 'Don’t do what your father and I did’. Like that’s
gonna hold us back. Ha!”

“Your mom admits they did it in high school?”

“No, not exactly. Mom and Dad eloped and Field came seven
months later. She says he came early. So what we aren’t supposed to do is
elope, but what she’s really saying is don’t get pregnant and have to elope.
It’s weird, but we know what she’s saying even though she doesn’t say it.”

“That’s weird.”

“My family is fucked up,” Cristol sighed. “But as long as
they continue to go away on weekends, I can deal with that.”

Sparkler nodded. “You are so lucky.”

Azzolla’s new school psychologist could have correctly
guessed how the valley kids were spending their long summer nights - drugs, sex
and booze. The eldest Saplin daughter’s trifecta of misbehavior was no
different than that of other bored, rebellious Azzlles coming of age in a
community of inbred ignorance. There were generally two types of teens in
Azzolla, those dreaming of “someday” when they could escape to “someplace else”
and those who wanted to be an improved version of their own parents. Field was one
of the former and Cristol one of the latter.

In Cristol’s projections of “someday“ she and Wrangler had their
own home and four kids. In daydreams she furnished and decorated an imaginary nursery.
Other times she made wedding plans. Both visions were soft and romantic, whimsical
and elaborate, and provided a private escape from reality.

Wrangler thought that talking about baby stuff was “totally
lame and boring,” and a huge waste of phone
minutes. Girls! Always talking about who’s having a baby, and stuff like what
color crepe paper to use for shower decorations and what nursery theme their
friend picked. He’d lived seventeen years unaware that a baby’s bedroom needed
a theme. Then one Saturday, he realized what “blissfully ignorant” meant when he was forced to leave that enviable state.

It all began normally enough. Cristol was craving French fries again, as
she had every day that week. The two of them were in McDonald's in mid-afternoon,
fries and sodas in front of them on the table. “I have a problem,” she said. “I
can’t buy Sareetha a gift until I know the theme.”

“So? Ask her.”

“Can’t, the shower is supposed to be a surprise.”

“So? Ask her mother.”

“Duh, why didn’t I think of that? See why I love you?”

“You owe me,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll pay up tonight,” she said coyly.

Wrangler liked where this was taking them, so he tried to
keep it going. “You always talk about themes. I don’t get it.”

“ Oh,” she brightened, happy to explain. “ ummm, a theme is
like, you know, like maybe a froggy theme – Christa’s baby has that. Everything
is green and has frogs on it.” He looked at her like she had two heads.
“Really, I swear. It’s cute. The plastic baby tub has a lily pad painted on the
bottom….”

Wrangler was sorry he’d asked.

“…and Lannie chose
that dumb sponge character. I hate that hideous yellow thing. But, Big Bird is
yellow, and I do like him. That’s the theme Tasha picked. Big Bird is perfect
for her because she doesn’t want to know if she’s having a boy or a girl. She didn't want to know...some girls do and some don't, but, see, Big
Bird is okay either way. I think Big Bird is a boy, though. Don’t you?”

“Whatever.” He was concentrating on running some fries
around inside a tiny paper cup of ketchup.

“ Peter Rabbit is popular again. It’s that old, old Peter
Rabbit from, like, maybe the 60s or something. So cute.”

She took a sip of her Coke and ate some fries. Wrangler
blessed the silence.

“ I like zoo animals, that’s a good theme for not knowing
if you’re having a boy or a girl. The sky – you know, clouds and balloons and
stuff. Bright balloons!”

He kept his eyes down, didn’t want to encourage her.

“We don’t have to know what the baby is to complete the
nursery.”

Wrangler noticed she had shifted from other people to
themselves. He began to pay more attention.

“Otherwise, like, ummm, if we were having a daughter and
wanted a princess theme - ”

“Not happening.” He
cut her off, clenched teeth on the straw in his Coke. He let go of it and
looked straight at her. “And, you know what? If I ran this place, they would
use bendy straws.”

“What?” Cristol had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know, bendy straws, like your mom always gets.”

“No, before that; why did you say “not happening? What’s
with that?” She sounded pissed.

He set down his drink and laid an arm casually across the
back of the vinyl booth.

“The princess thing - not happening. Not for my kid.”

“Oh, really? Who says?”

“I do. My first kid’s going to be a boy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, positively.”

“Well, maybe your
first kid is going to be a boy, but that doesn’t mean my first kid has to be a
boy.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“ Think about it.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Maybe I’ll marry Dan. Or maybe Carver. Who knows? Until I
have a ring, anything can happen.”

“Have they been hittin’ on you?” This time, he sounded
pissed.

“Oooooo, do I hear
jealousy? Dan and Carver are my friends, too, you know.”

Making Wrangler jealous was a game Cristol enjoyed even though,
when the roles were reversed, she didn’t
take it well herself. Sometimes she wondered how she’d been lucky enough to
catch him when he could have any one of a number of cuter girls. Sparkler once
said it was either because Cristol’s mother was governor, or because Cristol
was easy. At the time, Cristol was drunk and didn’t take offense. Besides, she
didn’t need to be told that. She knew either could be true and maybe it was
both - if she was going to keep him, she needed to have a hook, and one was as good as the other. Lately, they’d
been fighting a lot. She didn’t want another fight right now, so she quickly
said, “Don’t be silly, they aren’t hitting on me. But, technically, you know,
I’m available.”

“Yeah?” he looked out the window at beautiful mountains
that surrounded Azzolla. They made him wish he were out there hunting. Not
turning his head to look at her, he said, “Guess that's so. And technically, I’m available, too.”

He turned and they gave each other annoyed looks across the
Formica table. It was a standoff, Wrangler matched her instructions with a set of his own.
“Don’t you start flirtin' again. I heard the rumors. You got around when you
were away.”

She laughed derisively. It was almost a cackle. It reminded
Wrangler of Mrs. S, and the thought caused him to feel slightly repulsed. “Yeah but that was because I
hated it there. It didn’t mean anything.” She reached over and put a hand on
his. “Look at you! You really are jealous!”

“Whatever.”

They sat quietly taking turns drawing long French fries out
of the grease stained cardboard container and sipping their drinks. An old rock
song with a summer theme subconsciously subdued them.

The next song was another oldie – The Lion Sleeps Tonight. The words sleep and lion triggered
Cristol’s memory. She asked, “Did your bedroom have a theme when you were a
little kid? Lion King or something? That’s what Field had.” While
“oh-wing-oh-wat, oh-wing-oh-wat” and tribal sounding instruments continued to
play in the background, Cristol happily shared more childhood memories.“My
theme was “101 Dalmatians. I think I was
Pride’s age.”

Wrangler was struck by the absurdity of it all. This song is ridiculous, and so is this
conversation, he thought. But if he said that, she’d probably kick him
under the table. Worse than that, she could go into one of those week-long
pouting sessions. It was yet another behavior he’d found she shared with her
mother.

“Sure, Cristol, my bedroom had a theme, it was “sharing a
room with my sister and trying to keep her out of my stuff.”

She frowned tightly.
“Fine, be that way. I can see you aren’t taking me serious at all.”

“Oh, but I am. Today’s theme is ‘dirty clothes. Actually,
that’s been my theme since Mom’s back started acting up again about a month
ago.’”

Wrangler’s lopsided grin was irresistible. Cristol couldn’t
stay mad. She gave him a grudging smile.

“And tonight, when my room is glowing from the midnight sun
the theme will be “Wishing Cristol were here.””

A shiver ran through her. I totally loved this redneck jock.

Searching with her index finger through the fries, she
found what she wanted and pulled it out slowly, saying, “Oooooo, yesssss, I
love big long ones.”

Suggestively licking her lips, she cocked her head at him
and tried to look cute. “Let’s get out of here.’

”You read my mind.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A few days later, Wrangler was explaining the concept of
nursery themes to his friend Carver while they were cleaning their guns. Carver
had been his best friend since kindergarten. They shared almost everything, and
he trusted his friend wouldn’t think he was weird just because he found this
difference between girls and dudes interesting. Interesting like a two-headed snake- a useless excess, a curiosity...

“I ain’t shittin’ ya, they spend a lot of money on that junk - nursery stuff and such.
I think there’s, like, a rule that they have to outdo the last girl.

“Why? Who cares?”

“Girls care. Oh, man, do they care.” He was shaking his
head, “Serious competition, man. You’d think it was the Iron Dog.” Picking up
the bore swab, he turned his attention to the shotgun he was cleaning.

“So what if they win? What’s the prize?’ Carver asked.

Wrangler shrugged. “Whatever.”

Another couple of minutes passed in comfortable companionship
while they worked on their weapons. Carver used a silicone cloth to wipe
fingerprints off, and finishing one gun, he began the process again with
another. Lacking a new subject, he said, “You and Cristol talk about really
lame stuff.”

“Nothin’ lame about
the payoff,” he assured his friend. Getting laid was a respectable topic any
time. “Talkin’ about babies – that’s an aphrodisiac, scientifically proven and
everything. Don’t you know that?”

“A what?"

“You know, it gets you laid. That kind of talk is the key.
It unlocks the box.”

Carver wasn’t about to let his buddy think he was superior just
because he was hooking up with the governor’s daughter. Carver considered
Cristol to be one of the biggest players in the school. He didn’t think his
friend, or anyone else, should trust her. “No offense dude, but that box ain’t
been locked since that Halloween night when JJ-"

In one smooth move, Wrangler put down the stock he was
polishing, picked up a pistol and took aim at Carver’s chest. Carver raised his
hands and froze – a reaction stemming from a respect for guns, not a fear of
his friend. He looked at the gun, then at Wrangler’s trigger finger, and then
at his friends steady gaze. He got the message. It wasn’t I’m going to shoot you, it was Don’t
talk that way about my girl. Carver was cool with that. The crack about Cristol
had been crude and he shouldn’t have said it to Wrangler. He should have waited
and said it to their friend Dan. Dan would love it.

“Whoa, man, take it easy.” Carver said.

An extra ten second made the point, and Wrangler, nodded
tersely, set down the gun, and said, “Just watch how you talk about Cristol.”
Then he picked up the shotgun and went back to work on it.

Carver resumed his work, too, but inside his head he kept thinking
about how Wrangler was changing. Dan’s
right, since he’s been with Cristol, Wrangler thinks he’s hot shit. And like Dan
says, Wrangler’s making an ass of himself over a girl and she’s not even pretty.”

“You know what you are, Wrangler? You’re pussy whipped.”

Wrangler shrugged and spit on the garage floor. “Whatever.”
He turned the stock over and looked at it more closely, letting the comment
roll off him. But Carver was worked up, and getting more so.

“No one wants your stupid advice, either.” Carver said.

“Fine. Let’s drop it.” Wrangler said, Then he made the
mistake of adding, “Just sayin, when ya talk about babies and marriage, girls get
real agreeable.”

“Nah, Cristol does, not me I just let her.” This wasn’t
quite true. Wrangler carried his own when they talked about marriage, he liked
imagining a time not too far off when he’d have his own home and a wife (could
be Cristol) with a big-belly. It would be a boy. First a boy, then a girl, just
like he and his younger sister. Just like Field and Cristol. Yup, that’s how it
was gonna be, someday.

Carver shook his head.“Wow, that’s all I got to say. Wow.”

Wrangler threw down the rag he was using and said, “Let’s
go get some beer.”

They sat together on the stoop of Carver’s back steps, and after
four beers apiece, they were both feeling pretty good. Carver leaned back and
rested on his elbows. “So,” he said, “am I going to be in the wedding?”

Alcohol had loosened Wrangler’s tongue and he opened up.
The Saplin-Strauss wedding plans, all were explicit and he could recite them
line by line. “On a perfect summer day - that’s how she always describes it –
in her folks’ yard – here’s how she says it,” he changed is voice to a
falcetto, - “With the lake as a backdrop.” Carver snickered appropriately.
“Anyway,” Wrangler continued, “People will be sittin’ in folding chairs and –"

“Don’t worry about my head, ole’ buddy. When Cristol and me
are talkin’ about this stuff, she gets horny and I won’t be soft. Trust me.” He
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then held it up, palm toward his
“ole’ buddy.” Carver gave it a slap, they picked up the empties and went inside.

****

Cristol and Wrangler agreed that July, 2009 would be an
ideal time for them to publicly repeat promises they were now making to each
other privately. Yes, it was true that talking about their wedding plans
usually resulted in sex, but, Wrangler also liked coming up with ideas for the
ceremony. That was what they were doing on the night before the Saplins were
leaving on an Hawaiian vacation.

“Okay,” Cristol
said, “You and my minister hear the plane and that’s your signal to turn toward
the lake. Once you turn, my mom stands up. After she stands up, everybody else
will. But, I’ve been thinking maybe everyone should stay seated cause when Dad helps
me down from the plane, I want our friends to get really good pictures.”

“Nobody’s gonna sit, Cristol. It’s a wedding. People stand
up. Sheesh, that’s one thing I know after all the movies you’ve made me watch
with you.” Over the summer she’d rented every movie she could find that had a
wedding scene in it.

“Not so, Mr. Smarty, it all depends on what my mother does.
If she stands, then everyone else stands and if she doesn’t then nobody does.”

“No, I’m not, and if you don’t know this stuff I gotta
wonder what else your mother didn’t teach you.” She meant it playfully, but he
took offense.

“Oh, yeah? Well your
mother is a st-“ He stopped just in time. If he said Ms. S was “a stupid phony
and she sounds stupid, too,” the chances of a romantic goodbye would be ruined.
He looked up to the sky, counted to ten, and acquiesced, “Don’t worry about me
or my mom.”

It was Cristol’s favorite part, however - the fairy tale
entrance of the bride and her father. “It is the best part, isn’t it?” she
said. Then she began to recite, “As the story of Cristol and Wrangler’s
Magnificent Wedding continues, the little red Piper Cub, my father’s pride and
joy, docks safely…”

The degree of detail went on ad nauseum – short veil waving
in a breeze, bouquet of yellow and orange roses gripped tightly in one hand
while she steadies herself with the other hand placed on her father’s shoulder.
Carver’s right, thought Wrangler, this is freaky. He continued to half
listen. He didn’t care who wrote what vows, or who sang a song, or what the
cake looked like.“While I’m on the beach in Hawaii, I’m going to look through
magazines and get some ideas for our cake.” When she began to list flavors of
cake, flavors of frosting, textures and edible decorations, his eyes glazed
over.

Though it seemed to take forever, she finally got to the
place Wrangler had been hoping for. On the way home that night he pulled out
his phone to text Carver and brag that his theory was tested again and proven
true. But, he changed his mind when he saw a message from Carver that read,
“Where you at? Lookin 4 foldin chairs? LOL ”

Grow up, Carver, thought Wrangler and he put his phone away.

*******

Wrangler’s girl had been gone four days and he was drinking
again with Dan and Carver, this time in
Dan’s garage. He was maudlin. “Why’d they have to go to Hawaii? Cristol said
they’ve never had a family vacation before. Not a real vacation like this is.
Why now? This is our summer, our best summer. Ya know what I mean? Next year we
gotta get jobs and stuff.” He drained another bottle and threw it ten feet,
making it into a barrel. There was a satisfying sound of glass breaking. “Yes!”
he crowed, but the elation was temporary.“This is it, damn it. This is the end
of our childhood. Damn, ten days is a long time.”

“Bet she’s not missin' you,” Dan said. “ Bet there’s a dude on the beach rubbing sun tan lotion on her right now.” Dan, like Carver, was no fan of Cristol.
He often told Wrangler he was “whipped by the ice princess.”

“Cut it out, Dan.” Carver didn’t want the night spoiled by
tension between his two best friends. They didn’t get to hang out with Wrangler
much anymore and this was supposed to be a fun night. “Here, I got something for
you, Wrangler.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blunt. “This will help.”

Wrangler took it and lit it. Taking a drag, he let
his mind drift. He knew his relationship with Cristol was too intense for his
buddies. Maybe they were right. Maybe this time apart from his girl was good
for him. That’s what his father said while they were making plans for the
hunting trip - the trip that they were going to start on the next morning.

Wrangler and his dad were close. Some of his best childhood
memories were made with his dad at his side and guns in their hands, shooting
bear, elk, caribou, fishing and riding off-road vehicles. Man stuff. They
bonded during those times, and though he knew his sister was jealous over the
closeness he and his dad shared, he was protective and selfish when it came to
camping trips with their dad. Porsche had looked hurt when she found out about
the upcoming trip but, Wrangler refused to beat himself up over it. It wasn’t
his fault Porsche was a girl.

Even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lame excuse.
Porsche could hunt, fish, and ride an ATV better than any guy he knew. Still,
his life had too much women stuff going on and he needed the break. His dad
understood the daily concessions Wrangler made, living with two women. And now
he had Cristol bossing him around, too. Cristol wanted Wrangler to be with her
all the time, which meant hanging out at her house and helping take care of her
younger sisters. It could be fun, like when he did the cooking – hots and
sausage and burgers and steaks. He even wore an apron! (God, he would never let
Dan or Carver know that.) And, how many other guys his age would pitch in after
supper to do dishes, clean up, and read to Pride before bed? He was more like
their dad than Mr. S.

That was another thing he’d never tell Dan and Carver was
that he liked being an ex-officio parent. While barbecuing chicken, tending
steaks on the grill, setting out the paper plates, and mixing up lemonade he
felt happy inside. It was good practice for the day when he and Cristol would
have their own kids, and that was only a few years into the future.

Cristol’s
plan was to be two months pregnant when they finished high school, and not
quite four months when they got married. That, she explained to Wrangler, was ideal.
He'd have a scholarship to play hockey and they'd live together in campus housing. From some of her brother’s friends, she’d heard of a way Wrangler would be able to
college even if he didn't get a hockey scholarship. As an emancipated adult with a wife and child and not much
income, he could take courses for free at the state college and she could stay home and cook and
clean and care for their son.Wrangler’s ideal plan diverged from hers. He didn’t want to go on to college any
more than she did, which meant “not at all.” If he could get drafted by a professional hockey team he'd skip the college step and he'd travel with the team. He'd be home in the off season. Kind of like all those guys locally who worked on the Slope. They were away a lot. Heck, Mr. S was away more than most.Yup, she'd have to understand. But for now, there was no reason to tell her.
There would be plenty of time for that later.